


100 Times Before, 100 Times After

by LockerMice



Series: The 100 [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9213998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LockerMice/pseuds/LockerMice
Summary: All of these people, twisted their story into a tapestry, weaving and sewing the worst strands life has to offer. They twisted and weaved and danced and sang and cried and laughed and screamed and ran, feet racing across green strands of jealousy, blue silks of sadness, angry red satin, dark black wool, and deep purple velvet, leaping and weaving the whole time.They wove their tears, their laughter, their pain, triumphs, love, misery and hatred into a story. A story of ten, twenty, fifty thousand parts. Fifty thousand parts. Six people.A story that they weaved over a hundred lives. In some they were rich, others poor. In some they found love, others misery. In all, they found each other, in one hundred different ways, spanning one hundred lives. Three couples, forever looping around time. One always remembering their past life. The other never does.This is their story. This is that story. But it’s being told, in a slightly different way.It all started, with a neglected child, bully fodder, a foster kid, a cripple, a prom queen, and a nerd.





	1. The 100

**Author's Note:**

> Give it a shot? There's probably not going to be a logical order, but hey, chaos is glory.

I have never really been interested in the activities of humans before. They run around, living fighting, dying, each so very different, each so utterly the same. They’re made of greed, of hatred, and anger. The kill mercilessly, live poorly, and never hesitate to slam someone to the ground because of who they are, what they look like, what they wear, who they love.

  
Never before have I taken an interest in humans.

  
Until I met Octavia Blake. Brave Octavia Blake. She was so small when she came into this world. Forced to live in the basement whilst her mother conducted business with pretty much anyone to try keep her family afloat. She grew from a silent, tiny baby, to a questioning small girl, to a fierce young teen, ready to fight anyone who hurt her. Small of body, with chocolate coloured hair and stormy eyes, Octavia Blake was a hurricane in a teacup.

  
Until I met Lincoln Pine. Caring Lincoln Pine. Always picked on and tormented by his peers for being so small, so weak. Lincoln didn’t want to be a warrior. No matter the taunts, the teasing, the shoves, punches, and kicks, Lincoln Pine didn’t fight back. He was quiet and perceptive. Broad shoulders and a shaved head, Lincoln Pine was a warm hug at the end of a long day.

  
Until I met Anya Riveria. Strong Anya Riveria. Sharp tongued, strong willed and fierce eyed Anya Riveria. Raised in the foster system, Anya learned to punch first and punch hard. Loyal and bright, Anya Riveria could take care of herself. Tall, with high-cut cheekbones and tawny eyes, Anya Riveria was an eagle, proudly soaring in the blue sky.

  
Until I met Raven Reyes. Clever Raven Reyes. She nearly lost her life in a drive by, but only lost feeling in her lower leg. Hip checked, beaten, starved, and neglected Raven Reyes grew up wearing her father’s red NASA jacket as shield, a reminder, a warm blanket of hope. She learned to avoid the kitchen where men in masks walked around. She learned to lock her bedroom door at night, and sometimes, not come home at all. Bright eyes, metal brace, hair in a ponytail, Raven Reyes was a spark in the shadows.

  
Until I met Clarke Griffin. Sweet Clarke Griffin. Artist and future doctor, Clarke Griffin had a dream childhood. Her world was shattered when her father died on her birthday whilst trying to protect her when the shop they were at was robbed. Her mother for all purposes abandoned her after that, leaving a thirteen year old Clarke at home alone most of the time. Soft blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, Clarke Griffin was a princess with no throne.

  
Until I met Alexandria Woods. And what word could sum her up? Brave Lexa. Caring Lexa. Strong Lexa. Clever Lexa. Sweet Lexa. She was too many things. She was everything. She was the sun, and the moon, and all the stars as well. She was the very earth she loved so much, the water in which she swam, the air she breathed, and the flames she spread. She was life, and I suppose, she was death as well. Lexa, was Lexa.

All of these people, twisted their story into a tapestry, weaving and sewing the worst strands life has to offer. They twisted and weaved and danced and sang and cried and laughed and screamed and ran, feet racing across green strands of jealousy, blue silks of sadness, angry red satin, dark black wool, and deep purple velvet, leaping and weaving the whole time.  
They wove their tears, their laughter, their pain, triumphs, love, misery and hatred into a story. A story of ten, twenty, fifty thousand parts. Fifty thousand parts. Six people.

  
A story that they weaved over a hundred lives. In some they were rich, others poor. In some they found love, others misery. In all, they found each other, in one hundred different ways, spanning one hundred lives. Three couples, forever looping around time. One always remembering their past life. The other never does.

  
This is their story. This is _that_ story. But it’s being told, in a slightly different way.

  
It all started, with a neglected child, bully fodder, a foster kid, a cripple, a prom queen, and a nerd.


	2. 101 Part 1

_The rains come and go, swift and fleeting, a casual glance in your direction..._

Lexa Woods lifted her head off the desk. One hand reached for her glasses, pushed up onto her head, whilst the other fumbled to detach a piece of paper from her cheek.

_The trees catch fire in the evening sun, burning branches reaching to the sky, like a man drowning in flames. They shine like burnished copper, clinging softly in the dry winds that sweep the markets, they gleam like the last embers of a cooking fire, spitting and crackling above the whispers of the wind._

The lights were out. She’d gotten herself locked in again. Perfection. Anya was going to kill her.

_The leaves glow like strands of liquid gold, reflecting the early morning sun a thousand times over, falling in soft curls and waves over slender, pale shoulders._

Sighing softly, Lexa stood up and stretched, trying to shake the small hissing voice out her ear. She organised her notes into a neat pile and started closing her textbooks, but slowly. Lexa wanted to stretch the time out, the silent stillness that she missed desperately. She was locked in the library, yes, but all it would take was a phone call to Luna, and then one to Anya, and she’d be rescued from her voluntary prison.

She’d be whisked out of the dark stillness, filled with quiet whispers of lives lived, loved and died, and dumped in bright lights, loud noises and chaos.

_The sunlight filterd through the golden roof of a thousand and one tiles, each entirely different, a different colour, a different shape, a different sound. I wonder if she can hear them. The soft whispers of stories long told, some forgotten, others not. Can she hear the quiet words whispering over her golden head, sharp words, soft words, pained words, loved words? They’re almost visible, carefully etched into the living flames above us, ever growing, reaching higher and higher as more stories are told, whisked away by the trees, forever carved into the sashes of wind._

Yawning, Lexa shuffled forwards, head tilted sideways as she listened carefully. Above all the other soft whispers, one was ringing out louder. The words were spilling out of the pages, carefully slipping out the bindings and dancing through the air, a thousand little inky fairies, dancing on the dust motes. She could hear every tiny footfall on every small particle of dead skin, ceiling powder, and that invisible white substance that resides inside of books, like some magic spell, always ready to reach out and tap a person on the eyes, lifting the veil that separates the ink fairies and reality.

_The ringing of steel on steel is so loud it hurts my ears. I am afraid. Will that be the last sound I hear? The cold, spark inducing metallic thunder that seems to cleave the world in two. Or will it be the soft thump, of steel on leather, another life trickling through a slash in a breastplate? Perhaps it will be the cold hands of poison that take me, softly, quietly whilst I sleep. That would be best, surely. I do believe that there is a cowards air of finesse about poison. Some sort of eager cunning that drives toxins further into my body, rendering my life null and void, whilst the Spirit moves on._

“Where are you?” Lexa whispered softly, her footfalls almost silent on the carpeted floor. Like a wild animal Anya always teased, although she too moved with that wary grace, born of years of fear. After all, how can you break what you can’t see or hear? Words like bloody slashes through the air will only travel so far, their anger cannot outrun a frightened creature. Sooner or later, the angry red imps _will_ fall behind, and the creature will escape and hide, curled up in a ball, nose beneath it’s tail.

Hard, bruising blows cannot fall on empty air. How can you catch what you cannot see?

How can you hurt what you cannot find?

_Running. Running faster and faster, the sentry trees a blur on either side. All I can see is the word-littered floor and the occasional flash of the sun running next to me. I fear for her. She is too slow, too loud. The beast is coming. I can feel it through my feet as the ground shakes, warning us. I can hear angry howls and roars, splitting the forest air, making my ears ring with the sound. I can smell it’s sharp, acrid stench, and I fear my nose will never be clear again._

“Where are you?” Lexa repeats, padding her way through the shelves, standing, holding their breath, whilst their contents whispered and hissed through the silence.

_Beware the jaws that bite, the claws that snatch_

Another voice hissed, so close to her that Lexa jumps, her heart racing in her chest. Could the girl reading hear it? It’s so loud, surely every book could hear the frantic drumming.

_The drums of war are so loud. Sometimes, I fear that I will never know silence after they call out. Can you hear them now? Do you hear them, Sky Girl? They’re calling, calling. Calling for their brothers, hear them too? They’re deeper, further away. Their sisters sing too, faster, voices tumbling over each other like salmon in a stream. Calling calling. The very earth shakes beneath us, and I wonder if she too, feels the strong pull of the drum’s song, the loud humming that travels through the dirt and my boots. My blood and my bones. Do you hear the drums Sky Girl? Do you hear their song?_

Lexa nodded, her throat dry as she crept ever deeper into the stacks. No one came to this section of the library, and the dust in the air was thick with hisses and whispers, but that girl’s voice was getting stronger. No one ventures to where they don’t have to. The textbooks and research books were on the other end, so what was the point of the looming shelves with useless information, other than to provide a screen for a quick fuck.

Lexa had to be the only soul to disturb the voices in at least five years, other than Luna, coming to ensure that she hadn’t forgotten that libraries close, or Anya to drag her out by the ears, and force food into her.

_Sometimes at night, I can still hear them crying. Their cries for mercy, for help. Yells of anger, sobs of grief. But I think the worst of all are the beggars. The bow down and they cry and they plead and they **beg**. They beg for their life. Their life, I cannot give them. I have to take away the one thing that was only ever truly theirs. I can hear their loved ones howling, but what am I to do? Justice must be served, and the guilty must pay. _

_Sometimes, when I see the villages that were raided, fires still licking at the remains of homes, bodies, toys, tools, I wonder if they begged too. If my parents begged when they came and slaughtered my family, because of me. When they torched my village, because of me. When they killed seventy three innocent people, **because of me**._

Lexa reached out a hand, trailing it along the spines of the books, the inky fairies dancing on her skin, their tiny feet tickling her fingers and wrist. Her trailing fingers stopped on a plain black, leather bound book, with yellowed pages and no title. She inhaled slowly, exhaled softly and made as if to take the book off the shelf.

“ _Lexa!_ ” A bright light shone in her face, and Lexa yelped, scrambling away from the torch and noise, the book tumbling to the floor with a sound like an avalanche rushing down a mountain. Lexa’s careful, silent feet tripped over a folded over Persian carpet and she fell, raising her arms to cover her head.

“Lexa, it’s Anya. You’re okay. It’s just me.” Her older sister said softly, immediately squatting down, reaching Lexa’s eye level, like you do with a panicked dog.

“Anya?” Lexa whispered, her voice seemingly fragile in the suddenly empty air. Anya’s flashing golden eyes, and bright flashlight seemed to have chased the ink fairies back into their pages. Even the girls voice, so vibrant, so strong had vanished.

“Jesus Lex, I’ve been calling you since I stepped into this damn building. I phoned Luna to see if the times had changed, and she said she hadn’t seen you, so I came to see if you were here, and all your things were, but you were gone. How did you end up in the attic? Your books are all downstairs.”

“I...um...”

“Lexa, do you need to-“

“No! Please Anya, let’s just go home. Please.”

“Lex-“

“Please Anya. I’m tired.”

Anya considered her younger sister for a long moment, her amber eyes narrowed slightly, then nodded sharply and offered her a hand up. Lexa gratefully accepted Anya’s warm hand, and squeaked slightly when the taller girl used the connection to draw her into a hug. Anya was always warm, as though she was a roaring fire confined to bones and muscle. Sometimes, when Anya was angry, Lexa could almost see the hungry flames rolling off her arms, the sparks flying from her very skin. Lexa could see it when Anya watched a movie with her, both girls curled up on the couch, Anya’s entire body gleaming softly like the embers of a fire, warm and welcoming.

_And the flames lick at the wood, tasting, testing, then surge up, devouring the branches that stories once grew on. Do you hear the flames Sky Girl? They whisper too. Listen now. They whisper to the living as they sing to the dead. One day Sky Girl, they’ll sing for me. Will they sing for you? Will your spirit go back home to the stars, or will it stay here, on the ground?_

_Do you hear the flames whisper Sky Girl?_

“Lexa?”

Lexa blinked, and looked up. Anya’s eyes were narrowed even further than before. Coals burned in their amber depths, and Lexa felt a shiver of fear.

“We should go. _Now._ I’ve got your things, lets go.”

Lexa nodded and stooped to pick up the book. It wasn’t there.

“Now Lexa.” Anya ordered, turning sharply on her heel, golden flashlight a small circle of light against the towering sentry bookcases.

_Do you hear the songs of the dead, Sky Girl?_

The voice whispered softly, one last time as Anya slipped something inside her jacket. Lexa didn’t notice, her green eyes fixed firmly to the floor, expecting to see the small, leather bound, overfilled book lying on the carpet.

 

 

Lexa fell asleep on the bus, her head lolling against Anya’s strong shoulder. Anya sighed at the sight, and carefully removed Lexa’s glasses, tucking them inside her jacket pocket next to the book. That accursed book. How in all hell had Lexa found it? She was supposed to destroy it, damn it, she was supposed to burn it.

Lexa didn’t remember this time, no this time it was Anya’s turn to remember. That’s how the damn curse worked, wasn’t it? One remembered, one didn’t, and the first to die, would remember the next time. Anya growled at a passing moped.

She could accurately remember dying. The last time it was a car. She wondered if the small boy had survived, because she sure as hell hadn’t. The damn thing had slammed right into her, practically snapping her spine on impact. For one brilliant moment, it had hurt, and then there was nothing.

Anya watched a couple get off the bus, giggling, their hands shoved into each other’s back pockets. Anya was more of a belt loop kind of person. Lexa shifted slightly, and Anya’s hand flew up to smooth a few pieces of stray hair out of her younger sister’s face. Sister, friend, Sekon, roommate. If there was any constant, it was Lexa. Every single damn time the clock reset, Anya was with Lexa.

She’d seen a war lord, a commander, a waitress, a lawyer, a cop, a refugee, a rebel, a wife, a girlfriend, a pilot, a bar tender. This time it was an exhausted girl who worked three different jobs. Waitress, bartender and writer. Waitress Sunday through Thursday, from three till twelve, bartender Wednesday through Friday, from half past twelve till closing time, anywhere between three and six. And writing, was well, anytime she got five minutes and a pen.

Lexa wrote on her hands, her arms her legs, receipts, bits of tissue, serviettes, the walls. She formed trees of ink, words like leaves. The trees took root wherever she wrote, be it a text message, then a cyber oak would form, it’s leaves trembling in the wind, an absent thought jotted in black ink of a serviette, forming a massive poplar, reaching ever higher.

And Gods forbid Lexa found herself with a pen and paper, because then carefully scripted forests would rise, branches towering above the world, leaves whispering in the winds, hissing their stories to the sky. The careful loops and curls of her letters would become vines and flowers, winding around and around the slanted lines, and if you slept with one of her aimless scribbles under your pillow, your dreams would be filled of softly whispered words, loud battle cries, tender laughter, earth shattering crying, all beneath the shade cast by five lines of slanted writing.

_I wonder if she hears the fire inside her. Always so tall, her flames so bright, is she aware that her gaze scorches?_

Anya removed her hand from her pocket and did up the zipper, quickly reaching up to press the button, even though there was a least a kilometre to go before their apartment. If Lexa’s whispers were already loud enough that she could hear them, then Anya had to be ready. Lexa was the one who heard the whispers, not Anya. At least, not until that stupid day, when everything blew sky high and blood was exchanged, and vows were sworn and that damnable clock started to tick again. When she started hearing Lexa’s whispers, from that accursed _book_ , then _she_ was never far behind. And wherever _she_ was, that clock came soon after, tick tick ticking it’s way closer and closer. And wherever that clock was... well, Anya didn’t want to think that far. She slung Lexa’s book bag over her shoulders, the familiar weight of worlds resting on her hip, and stood up.

“Goodnight Anya.” Joanne, the bus driver smiled.

**“I wonder why she works such god awful hours An. Look at her, she was happy once, she smiled in the sun and laughed when the wind started to whisper. When she smiles, I wonder if her grandchildren get the same smile. Was that smile the light of the sun to someone else? Is she broken too An?”**

**“I don’t know Lex. Why don’t you ask?”**

“Goodnight Joanne.” Anya nodded in return, her sleeping sister perched safely on her back.

“Get her home safe, okay?”

“Okay.” Anya smiled slightly as she stepped back and the doors closed, leaving the two girls alone in the slight drizzle.

_I saw her again tonight. Her silver hair isn’t like steel anymore, it’s like the stars, it is the stars, she’s the mother of the stars, and like children they play around her, small hands touching each strand of hair, lighting it up silver and grey and blue and orange and red and yellow. Thousands of tiny flickering lights illuminate the deep crevices on her face, and the crooked way her fingers hang, unable to touch each other, purple spotted and softer than cashmere. She’s here every night. Not speaking, just sitting. We sit together sometimes, our legs dangling down into oblivion. One sneeze, and we could fall, tumbling, falling, wheeling, freer than a bird, until we hit the bottom and then we’ll soar. Our spirits will fly up, and up, and up, until we reach the stars. She’ll see her children again._

Anya cursed as the whispers started to fill her ears again. Lexa mumbled sleepily in her ear, and nuzzled closer to Anya’s neck, her soft curls tickling the older girl’s cheek.

“You’re going to be the death of all of us, _snacha_.” Anya whispered to the sleeping girl as she turned onto their street, the drizzle letting up to a fine mist that stuck to everything, tiny droplets collecting on Lexa’s long eyelashes.

And just like that, Anya remember the small, rain sodden creature caught with one filthy paw inside Anya’s saddlebag, big green eyes framed by dripping lashes. Collarbones protruded out of her skin, and her vest had no sleeves, dipping low on the young creatures chest. She was striped with dust and clay, some parts washed away by rain, leaving bands of red and dark brown on smooth tanned skin.

The vest used to be white, but was now every shade that nature had to offer, reds of blood and clay, green with grass and leaves, various shades of brown from dirt and mud. Her hair writhed on her head, filled with twigs and leaves, and her fierce little white teeth were bared in a snarl at the realisation that she had been caught.

What followed was a chase Anya would remember for the rest of her lives. The small creature ran like an animal, then a human, skittering quickly through the trees, diving under logs and hedges that Anya had to manoeuvre more carefully, tough little feet carrying her up a tree, then launching her into the next one.

_She chased me through the trees like one chases a squirrel, and my heart beat so loudly, I wondered if that was the sound I so often heard echoing off the trees in all directions. Perhaps the loud sounds were just great beasts’ hearts, thundering in their chests._

It was only when the dark eyed little monster had skidded on a patch of mud and found herself floundering in a river that Anya stood the slightest chance of catching her. The creature yelped and thrashed helplessly against the current, and it was with great shock on Indra’s behalf that Anya marched, soaking wet, carrying a small girl wrapped in her own coat, back into camp, dumped the sleeping girl on her own bed roll, and angrily emptied a small puddle of water out of each of her boots.

It’s eerily similar to the manner in which Anya marched up the four flights of stairs to the tiny broom closet she shared with Lexa. Carefully, Anya ducked through the doorway, because it was slanted and she always hit her head on the lower end of the frame, and one booted foot kicked up to find the light switch. Which of course, was fruitless, because the power was out. Of course.

Growling softly, Anya carefully slung the girl on her back onto her bed, which lurked in the corner like a kicked dog. They took turns, one on the bed, one on the couch, and on those long, terrifying nights, both sharing either the bed or the couch.

 

 

Lexa woke up on the bed, even though it was Anya’s turn. Her shoes, scuffed up and ragged as they were, were neatly placed the foot of her bed, and her mismatched socks seemed happy to see her, even though one of her toes was playing peek-a-boo through a hole in the green one.

She grumbled sleepily and rolled over, burying her nose in the very flat pillow. It had seen one too many temper tantrums, and every morning the stuffing had to be shoved back in, and another vow made to sew the bloody thing up.

There was a sticky note on her forehead, a luminous pink affair, that Lexa couldn’t quite imagine either of them buying.

 _Gone to work. Food in the microwave. Sleep. See you at two_.

Lexa could almost hear Anya’s exasperated sigh through the spiky points of her script. Anya didn’t write, she _scrawled_ , an impatient series of angry lines and harsh dots, and god forbid one of those letters had a line through it, because Anya left harsh slashes through the next three letters. She always said she didn’t have time to write, and it was painfully obvious.

Still, Lexa had to smile at her sister’s lack of shits to give. So smile she did, a small upturning of her lips as she shuffled out of bed, around the couch, stepped over a stray pair of jeans, and got her food out the microwave. Food in the form of a peanut butter sandwich, and a cup of coffee.

Hey, Anya tried. It was something. Lexa hummed thoughtfully as she slumped down onto the couch, wriggling as she felt a notebook digging into her back, and tossing the blue covered, hastily written in object onto the low coffee table in front of her.

_Do you hear the flames Sky Girl? Do you hear them sing?_

Lexa’s head whipped up from examining the ribs on the disposable cup. The book. The book had been there. On that couch. The voice was too soft for it to still be there, but it _had_ been there, which meant Anya had taken it, which meant she didn’t want Lexa to read it.

But why?

 

“Hey Lex, I’m home!” Anya called out softly as she stepped through the door, cursing as she hit her head on the doorframe. Her heavy boots were a reassuring sound, a steady _one two_ as she stamped on the doormat.

_One two, one two, one two three four. Again. One two, one two, one two three four. Again. It’s a never ending stream of orders, Again. It’s almost like dancing, although, I do believe dancing is meant to hurt your feet, not your hands. Again. Still, she orders me on, and for some reason, I listen. Again. One two, one two, one two three four._

Lexa sat up on the couch, notebook falling from her fingers.

“I brought pancakes. Lex?”

Anya appeared around the corner, a take away box in one hand, her ever present leather jacket in the other.

“Lex? You okay?”

_Her hands scorch my skin when she’s angry, her grip just slightly too tight as she corrects me, but when she ruffles my hair and tells me that I’m acceptable it feels like the sun shines a little bit brighter, a little bit friendlier._

“Where did you put it?” Lexa demanded, locking eyes with her sister, a feat only a few people ever dared to do. Namely Lexa and...and... Lexa and _who_? Lexa frowned slightly, who else dared look Anya in her amber eyes?

_What was her name?_


	3. Chapter 3

“Raven Reyes, you get your ass down here _right now_!”

“No! Because if I come down, you’re going to kill me!” Raven yelled back down to her foster father.

“That’s true!” Jake Griffin continued yelling at the twenty three year old currently camped out in the tree house from her childhood, holding the rope ladder in one hand, and a beer in the other, with a wrench sticking out her pocket.

Whilst the two gear heads bickered back and forth, Clarke watched lazily from the porch, sitting on the railing holding a glass of water. Their antics never ceased to amuse her. Ever since they’d adopted a spunky Spanish seven year old Raven Reyes, the Griffin house had become infinitely messier.

Literally. A seven year old covered in engine grease is hard to get out of the carpets. A seven year old covered in grease, and a six year old covered in paint are impossible to keep clean. A seven year old covered in grease, a six year old covered in paint, and a husband chasing both of them through the house was enough to drive any wife insane. Abby Griffin was not just any wife though.

All three of them were sentenced to a dirt term in Jake’s garage, which was renovated, with more space (enough for Clarke to practically live in there), and a shower. That of course, encouraged spare clothes to be kept there too, and eventually, it just became Clarke’s second bedroom, with two of the three cabinets labelled _Jake_ and _Raven_.

Not that Clarke was allowed to have two bedrooms, but they did scrounge a spare mattress and blankets for the arty princess. Growing up in a garage does sound Harry Potter-esque, but for the two girls, it was perfect.

Raven could tinker on cars, lawnmowers, chainsaws, and Gods know what else, and Clarke could disappear into her memories, splashing them all out onto a canvas. Forests, and space ships, and tents, and deserts, and a boat that sailed the seas.

Some of her paintings were hung up inside the house, a few had been sent to Marcus Kane’s gallery, but most of them, Clarke couldn’t show anyone. No, she couldn’t show Raven the paintings of Finn, strung up on a post, his hands bound, his eyes accusing. She couldn’t show Octavia the painting of her and Lincoln, wrapped in each other’s arms. She couldn’t show her mother the view from her room in Polis, nor the countless canvases of green eyes and dark hair and lithe muscles.

No, Clarke couldn’t show them. But in this life, Clarke didn’t have it so bad. She had her mother, she had her father, and best of all, she had her two best friends. They were safe, they had food, they were warm. So what if she couldn’t show them her paintings. At least this time she got to live through her teenage years in peace, with a family.

So what if Abby still spent most of her time in the hospital, and Raven still had her leg in a brace. Clarke couldn’t fix everything. But her mother came to her graduation, her father to her art shows, Raven, well, Raven never left. Her and Jake raced each other along the streets on cars, and Clarke taught her to ride a bicycle, and together, Jake and Raven had make Clarke a coming out cake, and then Clarke had dipped her fingers in the pink, blue and purple icing and smeared it along Raven’s face, and then both of the Griffin’s daughters were covered in icing and cake, and to hell with it, if Jake wasn’t too. Even Abby had the bisexual flag smeared on her forehead, but no one bothered to tell her.

 

 In this particular episode of _Chase the Grease Monkey_ , Raven had been “improving” Jake’s car, and then promptly added flames along the side, given it a tune up to make it sound like an angry hornets’ nest, and to top it all off, stolen Jake’s beer.

“What are they doing?” Octavia Blake questioned nervously, leaning slightly against the railing that Clarke was sitting on.

“I’m not entirely sure. Usually Raven’s gotten bored by now.” Clarke replied, watching in amusement as Jake started throwing small twigs and seeds from the tree at the dancing girl, who was yelling taunts in Spanish, waving the beer bottle around and strutting along the tree house balcony.

“This is normal?” Octavia squeaked slightly.

“Oh yeah, totally. Should’ve seen the time that Raven set fire to the lawnmower. Mom had to step in. They were both given time out.” Clarke reassured her friend.

Octavia hadn’t remembered. That much was obvious. There were no outrageous dance parties in the middle of restaurants, or impromptu fights in bars. This Octavia was the shyest, quietest Octavia that Clarke had ever seen. She jumped at loud noises, and scurried for cover during any sort of conflict.

She didn’t seem to have anywhere to go for the holidays, and had nearly passed out when Clarke asked her to spend it at her house. She’d brought a grand total of a duffel and a backpack, containing all her school books, and clothes, and Clarke had the sneaky feeling that that was all the tiny girl owned. She wondered what had happened to her friend in this life, but didn’t ask. Octavia Blake only spoke when she was ready.

“Time out?” Octavia questioned, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Oh yeah, neither of them were allowed near the garage for a month. Of course it took Raven three hours to pick the lock, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

 

“What on earth is going on out here?” Abby Griffin demanded, sticking her head out the kitchen window. Octavia jumped, leaping across the porch to press her back against the wall. At least she retained her basic battle training Clarke observed with a wry smile.

Jake dropped the twig he was about to throw, and Raven quickly dove into the tree house.

“Jacob Peter Griffin, explain yourself!” Abby demanded. Her husband stuttered and stammered, and the tree house started giggling.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of this one either Raven Reyes!”

Clarke grinned and shook her head. Just another day in the Griffin house.

 

 

“Hey Clarkey.” Raven sang as she somersaulted over the back of the couch, narrowly avoiding Murphy, who hissed and scampered away to curl up under the safety of the coffee table. The cat avoided the girl like the plague. One wouldn’t think that Raven had been in a leg brace since she was five, the way she tumbled all over the place.

Clarke grunted in response, eyes fixed on Anna Kendrick as she threw knives (and wine) around the screen. Octavia lay across the couch with her, her head in Clarke’s lap. It was oddly comforting for both of them. Octavia (after almost a month) was slowly getting used to Clarke and Raven’s insatiable need to cuddle, and Jake’s terrible jokes.

“Clarkey....”

“Mmm?”

“Clarke!”

“What!” Clarke snapped, then instantly ran her hand through Octavia’s hair, soothing the sleeping girl.

“I saw the devil today.”

“That’s nice Raven.” Clarke sighed, returning her gaze to the screen.

“Clarke!”

Growling, Clarke hit the pause button and fixed Raven with a perplexed glare. The grinning Latina didn’t even flinch under the icy blue assault. Octavia mumbled softly, and Clarke looked down, smoothing a stray curl out of the younger girl’s face.

“Gods Clarke, the devil wears leather.”

“Who’da thought?” Clarke mumbled, rolling her eyes. “Ow!”

Raven picked up another pillow to throw if Clarke continued being sarcastic, “Clarke, the devil wears a brown leather jacket, over a white tank, and black pants with rips in them. The devil, does not, in fact, wear Prada. She wears scuffed combat boots.”

“She?”

“ _Yes Clarke!_ Have you not been listening!” Raven complained, pouting at her friend, “The devil is a she, and she wears combat boots, not Prada! She also works as a bouncer. And she’s going to be there tonight, so we’re going out.”

“But-“

“No buts Clarke! I have an appointment with the devil about my one way ticket to hell, I can’t be late!”

And with that, Raven Reyes stood up, and marched out.

“Clarke, I really hate to break it to you, but your foster sister is insane.” Octavia mumbled sleepily.

“Oh, I know, _believe me_. However, she’s also a pitbull when it comes to things she wants, so wake up and slap on some party clothes.”

“I don’t own any...”

 

Five hours, several dresses, many swearwords, and one session of Raven Reyes Sorts Shit Out later, all three girls were standing in Clarke’s room whilst Jake tried to coax Murphy out from under the bed for his nightly shot of antibiotics.

The cat had gotten into a fight with none other than the neighbours’ Doberman, and escaped relatively unscathed, and then promptly sliced his leg as he scrambled back over the fence. The Doberman (Chuckles) on the other hand, had a shredded nose, nibbled on tail, and a chunk taken out of one pointy ear.

“Listen Murph, I’ll give you a piece of chicken if you just stick your nose out!” Jake pleaded, his head and shoulders under the bed, within the danger zone of Murphy’s angry claws.

“That’s not going to work Dad.” Clarke sighed, picking up her bag, “c’mon Rae, you’re the one who insisted we go out.”

“See you later Mr Griffin.”

“ _Jake_.”

“See you later Jake.” Octavia hurriedly corrected.

“Have fun with that miserable creature. I have a smoking hot blonde to woo!” Raven cheered.

“Use protection!”

“No need Papa G. This one is of the fair variety.”

“Then I expect a full rundown when you get home! I want age, height, eye colour, blood type and drink!” Jake retorted smartly, “and if she comes back, I’ll be there with my shotgun! _OW! Murphy!_ ”

 

Raven dragged her two friends to the middle of nowhere, where, _surprise surprise_ , there was a bar.

“Polaris.” Read Octavia, fidgeting with the ends of her hair.

Sometimes, Clarke could almost scream at the repetitiveness that followed her throughout her lives. Polaris Bar, her ass. Whichever sick deity (Anya called it Trevor, just to give her a name to curse at) had chosen this, kept chucking it back in their faces. Or in this case, blinding her with a neon blue flickering light.

“Come on you two! I want to meet the devil!” Raven whined, tugging them forwards.

 

Within five minutes, Raven had grabbed Octavia and vanished into the crowd of people on the dance floor. Every now and then, Clarke could see them jumping around together through a gap in the mass of people, or one of them would walk out, order more drinks, then vanish again.

Clarke smiled to herself at their antics. Or, she actually smiled into her rum and coke, taking in the whole bar. A long wooden bar covered one wall, with plenty of stools, a variety of bottles on display. There were two pool tables, three dartboards, and even tables set up for beer pong. The walls were covered in graffiti, an eagle here, a laughing skull wearing a flower crown there. Hidden speakers pumped music at the perfect volume. Loud enough to dance to, to hear the words, feel the bass, but soft enough to be heard without screaming, and yet, you couldn’t quite hear what the people in the next booth were talking about.

The bartenders were friendly, the drinks good, the beer cold. The stained bar counter wasn’t sticky, or wet, and it didn’t smell like bad choices, sweat and rum. Sure, it didn’t smell like sunshine and daisies, but it was a fair shade better than the usual sex, sweat and weed.

“Hey Clarkey, come dance!” Raven pleaded as she waited for two more electric (possibly toxic) blue shots. She looked mildly buzzed, although Raven went straight from mildly buzzed to absolutely finished, as in passed out over the back of the couch, cuddling the bag of cat food, so _mildly buzzed_ could mean practically anything.

“Actually, I’m gonna go pee, keep an eye on O for me?”

“Aye aye Captain!” Raven saluted, her tongue sticking out from between her teeth.

 

Clarke had scarcely taken five steps out the bathroom, when a hand clamped over her mouth, another secured her arms to her sides. Her heart stopped. No matter how many times she practiced, flowing over and over through the moves Lexa had taught her. She'd lost count of how many times Lincoln had practiced with her, she just couldn't quite remember where to put her weight, how to position her feet. Hours of practice, gone to waste.

 She wasn't like Lexa, or Anya, or Octavia. She was just afraid.

“ _Shof op en miya kom ai!_ ” A voice hissed in her ear. Her blood ran cold, and her heart suddenly jump started itself, thumping so loudly, she couldn't hear the music from the bar anymore. Clarke nodded, and allowed the strong hands to pull her back into the bathroom.

 

“What the actual fuck Anya?” She snapped as soon as she was released.


	4. Chapter 4

Lexa’s head hurt. Well, to be perfectly honest, she had just cracked it on the open cupboard door, but then again, it wasn’t exactly her fault, was it? It wasn’t her fault that the whispers had come back, and that the book was nowhere to be found. They’d been subtly hissing around the apartment, bouncing jubilant, half formed sentences about a girl with skin like honey and a mane of sleek curls. Of smiling cinnamon eyes, and the bright flash of white teeth. A peal of laughter that echoes through the summer air.

_Gods, when she laughs the whole world stops to listen. She’s the healer’s Sekon. She hunts too, her bare feet padding silently over the ground. She spoke to me today. Well, she slammed a deer down on the table in the kitchens with a proud smirk. Her eyes were dancing as Myra yelled at her for smearing blood all over her work top. Quicker than a passing shadow, she slid out the doors, but her smile remained hanging in the air in front of my eyes._

“Who the hell even put a door on the cupboard? What’s the point if it doesn’t even close?” Lexa muttered, sitting on the tiled floor and rubbing her head ruefully. She’d waited for Anya to leave for work before starting her search. So far, the kitchen wielded no results other than a bruised face. Where else could Anya actually hide anything?

Their apartment only had two doors. One leading to the hallway outside, and one for the bathroom. The kitchen, living room and bedroom were all one big room divided by a counter and a couch. Where in all hell could someone hide something in such a tiny space? The floors were all tiles, the kitchen was empty. Maybe in the bathroom?

One wet sock later, Lexa was hopping slightly, wincing as cold water oozed through her toes when she put weight on her left foot. Stupid leaky shower, and stupid Anya for not mopping the floor. There was nothing in the bathroom other than a half empty box of tampons, two toothbrushes and one tube of toothpaste.

Sighing, she left the bathroom, and the whisper turned to a murmur, like someone had just turned the corner, and there the writer was, standing with her back against the wall, talking softly.

_The rain came down like the sky itself was falling, in long low swooping arcs of gentle tears. It’s like the clouds are peeling away from the heavens, sheets of silk falling slowly from grace. Is this how you fell Sky Girl? Did you fall with this quiet movement, your hair streaming up, reaching for home?_

_Of course not, forgive me. You fell in a metal box with a tail of flames and death. And when your box hit the ground, it left furrows in the earth, great scars through my home. Your tail lashed out and left flames licking at one of my villages. You’re a murderer Sky Girl._

_You’re a murderer. You torched my village, you annihilated the Mountain. Your eyes seem so cold Sky Girl, and yet there you are. Your face is upturned to the sky, as though you can feel the silken strands of the heavens trail across your face. Do you feel the kiss of the rain Sky Girl? She used to too, you know. She’d dance in the rain, mud splattering up her legs like ink. Sometimes children would follow her, and she’d link hands, and they’d jump and spin together, and her laugh would ring out low and clear._

_She used to stand as you are now. With her arms outspread and her face upturned. Waiting. What are you waiting for Sky Girl? What does the rain bring you, and no one else? What did it bring her? Why do you wait?_

Lexa grumbled softly to herself, then jumped like a scared cat when a clap of thunder threatened to bring the entire apartment block down on her head. She wondered if the Sky Girl, whoever she was, liked thunder. She hoped Anya wasn’t out roaming. Anya was like a cat. She hated rain. Well, to be precise, she’d never said she hated it, but every time it started to rain, Anya would growl softly and pull Lexa under cover, and on the rare occasion that she got caught, she came back with her hair plastered to her skull, muttering about how filthy the city was.

Lexa shuffled to the window. Rain inside the apartment meant more puddles lurking, lying in wait for socked feet. The window opened onto the rickety fire escape, missing the bottom ladder. Anya had managed to get her hands on three sections of gutter, which she quickly fashioned into flower pots. So whilst the rest of the building was peeling paint and pigeon crap, the Woods sisters’ room had a row of flowers, and the occasional hanging pot to brighten up the life of pedestrians and garbage men.

_Sky Girl, where are you? Where have you gone? You killed the mountain Sky Girl, but now the Ground wants you dead. The Ice Nation wants you dead. My people, want you dead. They worship you Sky Girl, where are you hiding? It’s getting bad again. The Ice Nation calls for your blood like hounds baying for deer, like the drums for war. They want your power Sky Girl, and I don’t think I’m strong enough to protect you._

The girl’s murmur grew to a voice, panicked, yet strong. Anya wouldn’t have...would she?

Lexa ignored the first fat drops of rain on her skin, and slid out the window, the metal escape groaning slightly under her weight.

_Please Sky Girl, come back. I can’t protect you. Sometimes people say they’ve seen you. They speak of the ghost with hair like the winter sun, and ashen skin and blood red war paint running in streaks down her face, eyes colder than ice. They say she moves as though she isn’t there, her feet glide over the ground, and then she’s gone, and all that remains is the smell of iron and despair._

_Is it you Sky Girl? Are you the ghost of the forest, Wanheda? Commander of Death. It’s funny, because they say you wear my paint in red. They say I cry the tears of my conclave, but you cry the tears of the Mountain. It’s like you said that day. I’m still haunted by Costia. I’m haunted because I failed to protect the one I loved. Please Sky Girl, you have seen my weakness, and it is you. Don’t let me repeat my failure._

Lexa eyed the three gutters. Two were bare, one held blue violets, Anya’s pride and joy. Or her misery and downfall, Lexa could never quite grasp her sister’s strange habits. She spoke softly to the plants every morning, watering them, trimming them, yet when she was drunk she yelled and cursed, and rambled on in gibberish. She never picked the flowers. Never. Lexa once stole a blossom to press and dry, and Anya yelled at her. Anya never yelled. Sure, she complained and nagged and argued, but she never _yelled_.

_I don’t know what to do. She’s gone. She’s gone and I know she’s gone because I saw her sightless eyes staring through me, and I watched her ashes dance through the evening air. I cast her bow into the sea, and her arrows in the river, I gave her sword to her mother. Her mother. I had to stand in front of her mother and tell her that I was the reason she lost her daughter. I gave her bag to her Fos, and her knife to her brother. He will be a great warrior some day, just like his sister, I know._

_But once all of that was done, I didn’t know. I want to kill her. I want the queen on her knees, begging for her life. I want the satisfaction of watching one of those steel eyes lose their sight, and I want her to feel every single slice of my blade, every crack of the whip, every burn of the brand. I hate her. She killed her. She killed Costia, and now, I’m going to kill her._

Lexa’s digging fingers brushed plastic, and she pulled out a double, no, triple wrapped rectangle, with thick and bumpy yellowed pages, and a black leather cover. With numb fingers, Lexa stripped away the plastic, turning the book over and over in her hands. There was nothing on the cover, which was soft, each stitch carefully placed.

Lexa slunk back through the window, shutting it behind herself, holding the book close to her chest. She snagged the blanket off the bed, and curled up on the couch, reaching over to light the candles on the coffee table, making a little nest, because come Hell or Anya’s Fury, Lexa was going to read the leather notebook written by someone in love with a Sky Girl.

_This is a story, unlike any you’re ever going to read, because as a matter of fact, it’s written by someone who never thought she’d ever have to learn how to write. I received this book as a gift. I don’t normally get many of those, but my mentor told me I must practice my English in it._

Was written carefully on the front page, in neat, childlike print, in something that resembled charcoal. Lexa traced her fingers over the stiff paper, and the writing smudged slightly. Definitely charcoal. Lexa could almost smell the fire from whence it came.

_It’s late. Training only finished after the sun went down. I am tired. It’s been two months, yet I am still tired. Two months since I got caught trying to steal food. My mentor still teases me about it... She calls me snacha. Thief. She looked at me with her eyes like fire, and she saw me. No one ever sees me. I ran. I ran as fast as I could, and then that little bit faster, until my arms and legs were covered in scrapes and bruises from branches. Yet she still followed me. Her height and heavy clothes slowed her down just enough for me to stay in front of her, but she was catching up. I skinned my knee on a hidden rock as I slid under a fallen tree, and then ran in the other direction, the leaves under my feet cushioning them. I was running, and running, and suddenly I was falling, and water closed over my head. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, and I certainly couldn’t breathe._

_I opened my mouth and choked, and I breathed through my nose, and coughed, and the river continued on its way, carrying me towards the sea. It won’t stop for me. I know that. I was going to die in a river that brings life._

_I heard, and felt a splash, and then there were strong arms and they pulled me out the water, and I opened my mouth and there was air, and I breathed through my nose, and spat out water. She carried me out the river, she’s strong. I think I fell asleep as she walked, and she wrapped her coat around me. It was warm. I hadn’t been warm for so long. The heavy furs were warm and dry, she’d shed them when she jumped after me._

_My nontu used to do that too. His heavy leather coat would nearly knock me to the ground, but he was my nontu, and I wouldn’t show weakness whilst representing him._

_When I woke up, I was warm and dry, and wrapped up in the warriors coat, the fur-lined hood tickling my nose. She asked me where my parents were. I told her they were dead. She asked me for the name of an elder from my village, a brother, an aunt. Dead, I told her, they’re all dead._

Lexa sucked in a breath. No such words were supposed to be written in a child’s handwriting. She tucked her socked feet more securely under her body, and started to read again. Reading for Lexa was unlike reading for most. She could hear the characters whisper and speak, just like she could hear this small girl, her voice soft, her strokes with the charcoal obsessively careful, as though she wanted to show off that she could write.

_I do not remember how to speak. Nontu taught me my letters, and he taught me hand-speak. Nomon wasn’t home often, so I didn’t speak often. Then, after the fires, I didn’t speak at all. My mentor tries to get me to speak, but I don’t think I remember how. Her hands are like the trees, Nontu, would you believe that? They’re soft like leaves when she runs her fingers through my hair, but hard as wood when she cuffs me for mistakes. Her skin is like bark, warm, and dry and so rough. Nontu, they call her the River Girl. They say she’s part fish._

_It’s funny Nontu, because I can’t swim. I can’t swim, and the River Girl has chosen me as her Sekon. I’m going to be a warrior Nontu, just like Nomon. Nontu, I miss you. I forget your face. I forget our hand-speak. No one here speaks it Nontu, I can’t talk. I wish you were here Nontu. We could make honey bread, and sell it, and then we could go berry picking for flat cakes._

_It’s blueberry season Nontu, and there are not many bears here. My Fos has taken me with her when she patrols, and I do not see their claw marks in the trees. My Fos has taken to tying a rope around my ankle Nontu, she says she keeps losing me. Is this what being a Sekon is about Nontu? I follow her all day, every day, and I work hard, and I try, but still Nontu, she doesn’t trust me._

_I miss you Nontu. I miss your hair and your smile. I miss your stories, and your made up words. I miss Nomon, and the way she’d laugh at me when I stole her sword. Do you remember Nontu? When I fell over, because it was so heavy? You laughed Nontu, so loudly, that Nomon said Heda could hear you._

_My Fos says I am to be Heda one day Nontu. I don’t want to lead Nontu, I want to bake. I want to make berry flat cakes, and honey bread, and chestnuts, and breads with nuts in them. I want to come home after playing, and I want you to be standing there covered in flour. I don’t want to lead Nontu._

_Please tell my Fos that I’m not a leader. Please Nontu, I don’t want to._

The girl is in tears now, pleading, begging. Lexa wonders who Nontu is, what a Fos is. Could berry flat cakes be pancakes? Who is the River Girl? Why does she care? Hand-speak, is it sign language? Is Nontu deaf? Why can’t the girl speak? Has she lost her words?

Lexa lost her words for many years. Even now, she only speaks when she must. Why does this girl not need her words? What’s a Nomon? Are all Nomons warriors? Are Nomon and Nontu parents?

That could make sense, couldn’t it? The girl said her parents were dead. She mentioned fires, maybe Nontu’s bakery caught alight?

Lexa could almost see the eager flames, licking at the grass roof. She could practically taste honey bread, whatever that was, a sweet, sticky pastry of sorts that made her tongue sing in delight, and her toes curl happily.

She continued to read, savouring the sweet taste of honey.

_I got in a fight today Nontu. There was a boy saying bad things about my Fos. He called her a traitor to the tree people, and said she loved a fish. He said I was a half-breed, because I am her Sekon. He said he was glad that her fish died._

_I punched him Nontu, I punched him on the nose. It hurt me, but it hurt him more. I punched him on the nose, and I kicked him, and when he fell over, I continued to hit him. Nontu, I hurt him. I know you said I mustn’t hurt people, but surely you understand Nontu?_

_I didn’t hurt him because I was bigger or stronger than him, in fact Nontu, he’s bigger than me! I was scared Nontu, but it’s not right for him to speak like that about my Fos. She is a great warrior, and I owe her my life. Maybe she’s mean sometimes, and she pushes me over, and ties a rope onto my ankle. But at night, when she thinks I am asleep, she pulls up my blankets. She bought me clothes Nontu, and she gives me food. One night when we were on patrol, she pushed me, then gave me her coat and told me to wear it because she didn’t want to carry it._

_She said it was too hot. She lied Nontu, because I could see her shivering, and she still gave me her coat. I think my Fos is crazy Nontu. She calls me Hoshon. Quiet one._

_She called me Striksis at the Autumn feast, but I think she had too much to drink too. She calls me branwoda, and snacha, and she shouts at me when I fall over, but she nods at me when I manage to hit her during training, and Nontu, I like it when she’s happy with me. She doesn’t smile Nontu, never._

_I’m going to make her smile one day Nontu, I think she will look beautiful with a smile. She reminds me of Nomon. She walks the same, with her head held high and her steps are long. Maybe she knows her?_

_Nomon’s name is Lily, I should ask my Fos. Maybe she knows what happened to her. Maybe she knows where she is! Nontu, I might be able to find Nomon!_

_I’m going to do that Nontu, I’m going to ask my Fos if she knows where Lily kom Trikru is. She could ask the General! The General would know, wouldn’t he Nontu? Lily kom Trikru, he’ll say, why yes, she’s with the Floudonkru, protecting their caravan, and I’ll be able to go join her. I can ask her if I can live with Rebeka. Do you remember Rebeka Nontu? She’s Nomon’s sis._

_Oh. Nontu, I just remembered. I never told you the name of River Girl. Her name is sharp, just like her, but I like it. She wants my name Nontu, but I don’t know where to find my words. My teeth are keeping them caged. Nontu, I am a Sekon at the age of seven summers. I was the smallest of all the choices, I was the weakest, but my Fos still chose me._

_Her name is Anya kom Trikru, and she chose me as her Sekon._

_“Anya?!_ ” Lexa hissed, her eyes frantically scanning the page. The words didn’t lie, the voice didn’t falter.

“ _Lexa!_ ” Anya snapped, her warm hand clamped on the smaller girl’s shoulder, “you’re dreaming, wake up.”

Lexa blinked a few times, then yawned, and straightened. She’d fallen sideways on the couch, her cheek pressed firmly against the book.

“Anya, you have the same name!” She said urgently, holding up the book as proof.

Anya’s face went whiter than a sheet of fresh snow.

“ _Where did you get that?!_ ” She demanded.

Lexa realised she hadn’t been speaking English.


	5. Chapter 5

Clarke rolled her eyes as Raven once again swarmed her way up into her tree house, an irate Jake hot on her heels. Brace, or no brace, Raven’s arms could pull her up the ladder just as fast as Clarke with both arms and legs.

“Now what’s she done?” Octavia asked blandly, mirroring Clarke’s position perched on the railing, although she held a novel instead of a sketchbook.

“No clue.”

“My lawnmower! Raven, you killed it!”

“Improved it!”

“Raven, it’s sparking!”

“Exactly! Not only does it cut your grass, it incinerates the clippings! Am I not a genius?”

“ _It’s a fire hazard!”_

_“You’re a fire hazard!”_

“ _What the hell is going on out there?!”_

Raven vanished into the tree house and Jake immediately assumed the most innocent stance that he could.

Clarke snickered softly, returning her charcoal to the page, ignoring as it stained her fingers dark grey. She blinked several times at the scene scrawled over her page. It was a library, or a bookshop, the shelves soaring high, rough rectangles scribbled in place on them, waiting, begging for detail. A title perhaps, in gold along the spine. An ornate swirl on this one, that one is blank, the next has ridges and cracks running along the leather.

A person, or at least, the rough shape of one, sitting on a Persian carpet on the floor, dwarfed by the towering wooden shelves. Legs, impossibly long, and yet...impossibly perfect, one acting as a book stand, the other bent at the knee. A familiar silhouette was emerging out of a tangle of soft hair. Her eyes were focused on the words on the page in front of her, one hand holding the book, the other ready to turn the page.

 _Lexa_ Clarke’s heart whispered, slamming desperately against her ribs. Clarke could almost taste the hot chocolate in the air, almost see Lexa’s shoes, neatly placed next to the door, her snow-laden coat hanging up in the corner.

This time, it was Polis Book Store. Lexa had spent hours curled up amongst the shelves, reading everything her gentle fingers could reach, and then a few more when she retrieved the chair from behind the counter.

Clarke’d lost count of the amount of times that she’d walked in and found the girl sitting at the foot of one of the mighty book cases, lost in some other world. At first, she’d been shy, tentative. Seventeen year old Clarke still didn’t know her way around women, especially stunning brunettes. However, the day after her eighteenth, with a splitting headache, a bruised shin, and twenty bucks at stake, as well as strange pictures in her head, Clarke had shuffled into the bookshop and knelt beside the reading girl.

_Lexa turned, blinking owlishly through her glasses, green eyes bright, wary._

_“Hi.” Clarke managed to squeak._

_“Hi.”_

_“Look, I know this is kind of weird, and you really shouldn’t talk to strangers and all that hunky dorey, but I can’t lose my twenty, and Raven’s going to have bragging rights, and Raven’s head is big enough as it is, and you have no reason to listen to me but-“_

_Clarke had halted in her ramble, a blush rising steadily from what seemed like her stomach to the ends of her hair at the sight of one arched eyebrow, green eyes dancing in mirth._

_“-Right, get to the point. Uh, here. I think you’ll enjoy this one.” Ever the social prodigy, Clarke had practically shoved the book into the startled brunette’s hands (God, who even had skin that soft?) and bolted._

_A day later, she received a phone call from an unknown number, inquiring about the sequel._

“Holy smokes Clarke, who is she?” Octavia breathed in her ear, blue-grey eyes examining the almost completed sketch.

Clarke yelped and toppled off the railing, successfully taking Octavia’s glass of water with her. Drenched, covered in soil, with her ass in a thorn bush, Clarke blinked up at Octavia’s shocked face stupidly.

“ _Oh my gods Griffin, tell me next time you’re going to do that! I wanna film it!_ ” Raven choked out between gales of laughter, lying on the stoop of the tree house, cackling like a hyena. There was a sudden yelp, and then a loud grunt as the idiotic girl rolled off the edge, and landed on a startled Jake.

Octavia made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, and then dissolved into giggles, melting into a useless puddle next to Clarke’s sketchbook. Clarke whimpered slightly at the click of a camera.

“Sorry hun, this is going on the fridge.” Abby mumbled apologetically, reaching out a hand to help her daughter out of the rose bush.

And so, a picture of a drenched Clarke, with rose petals and a lemon wedge in her hair, sitting in a rose bush, looking miserable, ended up on the fridge, right next to one of Jake and Raven wrestling along the lawn, twigs and leaves caught in their hair, and a streak of mud along Jake’s nose.

Jake couldn’t sit for four days, Raven’s limp was bad for a week, and as for Clarke, well she retreated to her room to try and removed the thorns from the backs of her legs.

 

 

A knock at the door caused the blonde on the bed to look up, startled, as a small head peered around the door.

“Clarke?”

“Hey O, what’s up? Come in.”

Octavia had a habit of waiting for permission to enter a room. Clarke didn’t like it. Well, sure, it could prevent walk-ins, which both Raven and Octavia had been _excellent_ at in past lives, but it was just another thing that _wasn’t_ Octavia. Just like the shyness, waiting to be allowed into a room, waiting to be allowed to eat, jumping at sudden noises, sudden silences, all of those things _weren’t_ Octavia.

At least she had the courage to sit on the foot of Clarke’s bed, crossing her legs underneath her. Clarke hastily shuffled the absent doodles and sketches into a pile, before dropping them on the floor, giving the two girls more room.

“What’s up?”

“Can I-...can I just stay here for a while? I...” She faltered, fixing her eyes on Clarke’s grey and purple bedspread, “I just...”

“Where’s y’all at?” Raven chirped, barging into Clarke’s room, closing the door behind her. For a self-proclaimed cripple, Raven was good at sneaking around, “Let’s watch a movie, I’m lonely and I want cuddles. O, get up here, I dunno what you’re doing all the way down there, you smell better than Clarke does.”

“Hey!”

“Griffin, she smells like rainbows and sunshine. You smell like oil pastels. She smells better than you.”

 

Jake found them curled up together the next morning, Raven sleeping on Octavia’s stomach, Octavia on Clarke’s chest, and Clarke holding the tiny brunette close, the movie still playing on repeat on Clarke’s laptop. Smiling softly, he closed the computer and put it out of harm’s way. Raven stirred slightly as he covered all three with blankets, but continued sleeping as he snuck out, closing the door behind him.

 

 

“Raven _no!_ ” Clarke howled, but her pleas were in vain, because struggle as hard as she wanted, she had lost her balance and was now toppling into the swimming pool, arms waving pathetically at the sniggering girl.

The afternoon was warm, to the point of hot, so whilst Clarke hadn’t been planning on swimming, the cool water was certainly welcomed after the initial shock of freezing.

The joke was on Raven though, because no sooner had Clarke re emerged, Jake bodily snatched the laughing brunette and tossed her after her sister. Octavia saw the playful twinkle in the man’s eyes and took matters into her own hands, tackling him into the water.

Clarke howled with laughter until Raven shoved her under the water, and then their impromptu swim turned into a full out war, which was broken up by an irate Abby.

All four of them spent the next two hours weeding, cleaning windows, doing dishes and vacuuming. Jake make dinner, Clarke made cookies, Octavia set the table, and Raven...well... no one was quite sure what Raven did to try calm down Abby Griffin, but she insisted that she was helping when she stole a handful of cookie dough and vanished again.

An angry Griffin was a scary Griffin, and all Griffin’s, Reyes’s and one Blake knew that. But an angry Griffin wasn’t a very energetic Griffin, so by the time they sat down to eat dinner, Abby was all smiles, although she did narrow her eyes at Raven, who was busy digging through the salad in search of cheese.

Raven hastily removed her fork from the bowl, and near tossed it to Octavia, who made a small squeaky noise, and barely stopped it from flying off the table. As it was, Murphy grumbled from his seat under Abby’s chair, and slunk out the room, so similar to his human namesake, that Clarke had to take a hasty sip of water to stop herself from chuckling at the cat’s antics.

True, the real Murphy would’ve made a snide comment, and Raven probably _would_ have thrown the salad at him, but seeing as she hadn’t yet met Murphy in this life, the cat was the next best thing. It was terrified of Raven, loved belly rubs (Clarke wasn’t too sure that _Murphy_ Murphy would have liked that, but hey, who knew?) and pounced on anything that moved.

“So, what are you girls’ plans for tomorrow? Mom and I are going to a museum, and I don’t feel like hearing you two whining at us for _eww Dad, that’s my **Mom**! You can’t just...eugh_.” Jake ended with an almost perfect impersonation of twelve year old Clarke. Clarke blushed and mumbled into her spaghetti, whilst Abby smirked softly, and Raven snickered.

“Well, I suppose I need to start packing at some point, so I may as well start...” Octavia said quietly, pushing a piece of lettuce around her plate. Clarke wasn’t expecting that, and judging by the sudden silence at the dinner table, neither was anyone else.

“What?” Raven spluttered, a few stray hairs falling in her face, having escaped her ponytail.

“I mean... Summer holidays are almost over, so I should probably start packing to go back to...school.” The offending girl mumbled, keeping her eyes fixed on her plate.

It hit Clarke like a lightning bolt to the ass. Octavia didn’t have anywhere to _go_.

“Y’know, we’ll miss you. You’ll have to come back next time; you’re the only one who can handle Raven’s god-awful singing.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

Clarke and Raven dissolved into petty bickering, but Clarke didn’t miss the grateful grin that Octavia shot in her direction.

 

It was only when Clarke was elbow deep in warm soapy water, that she could find that place in her mind where the world was like jigsaw pieces. If she could just push them, turn them, move them, they’d all click together forming a picture. One big piece was Octavia. She couldn’t leave. Not now. Clarke was twenty four, she’d _known_ for six years. _Six_.

Anya? Anya was twenty seven. She’d known for _nine_. Lincoln was twenty five. He’d known for _seven_. Anya had been brief, rude, and to the point when she’d cornered Clarke in the bathroom. Lexa worked three jobs, Anya worked the bar, Lincoln was a cab driver.

Clarke Griffin was about to start working at Kane’s gallery, Raven was working at a local garage, as well as fiddling with various designs for NASA. Octavia...well, Octavia had just finished off culinary school, but she was tossing and turning with whether or not she could go home under the guise of taking up a new degree.

Anya gave Clarke the name of the library that Lexa haunted, and Clarke gave Anya the name of Raven’s garage. As for Lincoln and Octavia, Clarke had to get Octavia to trust her a little bit more before she could help, but Anya had merely flicked her wrist in dismissal.

Knowing Anya, she’d already managed to rustle up every piece of information that there was available about one Octavia Blake, through manipulation, or intimidation.

Maybe if Clarke could dig up Indra, wherever the hell she was, it would be enough to sway O into staying in the area. That could work, right?

Right.

Step One, finish dishes.

 Step Two, locate Murphy.

Step Three, dose Murphy.

Step Four, nurse wounds administered by Murphy.

Step Five, intense research on Octavia Blake.

Step Six, intense research on Indra Unknown-Surname.

Step Seven, who’s phone was that? Hers? Oh. Fuck.

Clarke hastily wiped her hands and wrestled her phone out her pocket, nearly dropping it into the soapy water as she fumbled to answer.

“Hello?”

“Clarke.”

“Anya?”

"We have a problem."


	6. Chapter 6

“Anya, I don’t-“

“ _Where did you get that?!_ ”

“I-“ Lexa begged, eyes huge as she tried to escape her sister’s fiery gaze.

“ _You can’t have that! You’ll ruin everything!”_ Anya snarled, her lips drawing back over her teeth, as though she were an animal.

“Anya, I-“ Lexa scrambled backwards, tripping over her own feet, landing hard on the floor, her glasses falling off her face.

“ _Du mokskwoma. Yu flosh ething klin. Yu en yu skrab daun telons!”_ Anya yelled, raising her hands, fingers clawing through her own hair. The harsh words send electricity sparking down Lexa’s back, and she crawled across the floor, not taking her eyes off the threat. Her back thudded against the bed.

Lexa’s arms came up as muscle memory, shielding her face, her knees drawing up to her chin, her book forgotten on the ground as she protected herself. Instantly, Anya stopped yelling, she dropped to her haunches.

“Lexa, I’m sorry.”

Lexa flinched at the sudden movement.

“Lexa, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Anya was now the one begging, her face uncharacteristically emotional.

Lexa lunged forwards, snatching her book off the ground with one hand, her glasses with the other, and then bolted for the door, leaving it swinging behind her.

Anya screamed. There was no way in all hell she could catch Lexa now. Maybe if she had been sticking to her training properly, she could have, but she’d slacked off. Lexa had always been a runner. Anya, at the height of fitness, could _just_ keep up with her. Now, she definitely couldn’t.

She screamed again, then picked up Lexa’s mug and threw it. It shattered against the wall. She kicked the couch. It still didn’t bring Lexa back, so she snarled, and clenched her fists, and took a deep breath through her nose.

Her hands shook as she pulled out her phone.

 

“Hello?”

“Clarke.”

“Anya?”

Anya took another deep breath.

“We have a problem.”

Lexa ran. No. Lexa _ran_. She leaped down four stairs at a time, then out onto the street like some kind of demon. Rain lashed at her face, but she honestly didn’t notice. The sidewalks were harsh on her bare feet, and she often had to jump over smashed bottles, or shattered windows, but she didn’t stop running. She ran to her campus, and she ran up to the wall of the library, and then she scaled the side of the bloody building, her feet leaving tiny smears against the paint, her book held between her teeth. She tumbled through the fourth floor window, and she lay in a pile on the floor.

Her breaths came in short ragged gasps, and her eyes burned. Her feet were bleeding, her glasses were sweaty, and her hair was sticking to her face, her face was sticking to the dusty floor. Her clothes were leaving a small puddle on the floor. Her mind was racing as she ran, but now it was blank.

So blank, so empty.

Like a wall where there used to be a painting. The more she tried to not think, the more she noticed that big splotch of wall where the paint was just a few shades off. As though there used to be memories there, but they’d been taken down, crammed into a storeroom. She would have hated that. She always said that art should never be packed into storage because...

Because why? Who was _she_?

Lexa didn’t know. And somehow, not knowing who _she_ was, terrified her a thousand times more than Anya’s sudden surge of anger. Sure, Anya didn’t often lose her temper, and certainly not at Lexa, but Anya’s emotions reminded Lexa of the ocean.

Constantly changing, now angry, then happy, sullen, mischievous.

_Like a flame. I can see it in her eyes. Her golden eyes caught fire again today. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so angry. She showed her teeth like an animal, and she stood tall, towering over the Fleimkepa. She shouted loudly, in Gonasleng, so I couldn’t understand, but I understood enough. I’ve been learning, I hope she’ll be proud._

_She was angry with him, because of me. Nontu, what have I done? She says I am just a child, then tells me I will lead my people one day. The Fleimkepa doesn’t treat me as a child, but I don’t understand what he is telling me._

_He says love is weakness Nontu, and I don’t understand. How can love be weakness? You always said love makes us strong, and Anya says the same. In a way. She says emotions must be my weapons, because clearly, nothing else will work. She’s so horrible to me Nontu, but I understand her now. Her anger is like a weapon, a spear of fire, lancing out, see how it strikes the Fleimkepa?_

_Her love, dare I call it that, for me, is like a shield. I see it, and I both love and hate it. She uses that shield when I fight against the other Sekons, I feel it around me when she’s watching. It’s like a warm fur blanket when I am cold. When my hands are shaking, and the sword is too heavy, and my opponent seems too tall, I borrow that blanket, she gives it to me when she crosses her arms over her chest and leans against the fence to watch._

_I take that blanket, and I hold it close, because I know as long as Anya is there, nothing can hurt me. Between her spear of anger, and her blanket of love, she defends me._

Lexa took a shaky breath and carefully sat up, readjusting her glasses on her face, fumbling for her book. Glasses settled, book held tight, she scooted over to an old beanbag, lying limply atop a pile of carpets, an animal missing its stuffing.

The “attic” of the library had been her hidey hole ever since they’d moved into their apartment. She’d found it barely a week after they’d arrived, after shuffling around a bookcase to find a door that was cracked open. Inside were mostly rolled up carpets (she didn’t understand why a library needed so many carpets, nor why half of them were rolled up) an old wooden desk, so Lexa built herself a reading nest.

A few rolls of carpet, a beanbag, an old blanket, and Lexa had herself a place to read without being interrupted. The only person she’d ever seen up on the third floor was Luna, so it was unlikely that anyone would look for anyone, or anything up there.

Shivering, she grabbed the grey blanket, burying her face in the smell of dust, warmth, and sweet tea. More carefully, she curled herself up on the limp beanbag, trying to prevent any more stuffing from escaping, and lifted up her book again.

So what if Anya was mad? So what if the world came crashing down every now and again? As long as the whispers were there, Lexa wasn’t really alone, was she?

 

_Nontu, my Fos is crazy. I know I’ve said this before, but it must be true. Nontu, she stands in front of spooked horses, and she fights with the General, the Felimkepa, and anyone and everyone else. She’s only sixteen summers Nontu, and she has a Sekon. The General was her Fos._

_The General tells me that Anya came from Noukru. She says that she came running out the trees one day, followed by a pack of wolves, and from that moment on, the General was impressed. She says that Anya was skinny, skinnier than me, and yet she killed two wolves with nothing but her dagger and a stick._

_Nontu, I want to be like her one day. I am eight summers now, and she says I might be worth something one day. She also says I’m going to be the first to die in my Conclave, but I don’t believe her. If she trains me, and I learn hard, I will be the best warrior in the Conclave._

_The Fleimkepa is a horrible man Nontu. He tells me that I am worthless, he says that Anya is teaching me wrong, that I have to learn how to fight like Heda, not like a scared smolfecha. I always lose against the other Natblida, Nontu, they’re so much bigger than me._

_Sometimes, after training, I can’t sleep because it hurts so much Nontu. My ribs are always blue, and my hands sting from being hit. My Fos always notices my hands, and wraps my knuckles before we train, but if I don’t do something, I’m going to end up with hands like tree branches. Crooked and stiff._

_I wish she could notice my ribs. It hurts so much Nontu. But pain makes us strong, and I will not be weak._

Lexa’s ribs ached in sympathy for the small girl, her fingers twitched, as though she could see the red welts across her knuckles.

_Nontu, my Fos says any further weapons training will be put off until I can swim and ride. I’m excited Nontu, the River Girl is going to teach me how to swim! I can’t stay for long today, she says I must rest. I’ll tell you how it went as soon as I get back tomorrow._

_Nontu, I am in trouble. When Anya said swimming lessons, I though they would be the same as fighting lessons. First, I have to do everything without a weapon, then I get a wooden weapon. Only when I have mastered everything with the training weapons will she let me use a real one. So far, the only real weapon I am allowed to touch s a dagger._

_But Nontu, swimming is not like fighting. We had to take off our clothes to keep them dry. She has so many scars Nontu. So many kill marks. She has a big scar on her back, it starts on her hip, and ends just under her shoulder, running under her breast band. She says it is from the Azplana. I believe her. Her ribs are covered in scars, from arrows and swords. There’s one that wraps up her calf, she says it’s from a whip, and that her Fos saved her from that opponent, otherwise she’d be dead._

_Nontu, I didn’t want to take off my clothes, but she made me. She noticed my ribs, all blue, purple and red. She asked me who did it to me. I said nothing. She shouted at me, said that if I was ever going to talk, that would be the right time to do so. I shook my head and stared at the mud between my toes. Maybe if I stared long enough, the river would rise and sweep me away again. This time, I wouldn’t complain if my Fos didn’t save me._

_I thought she was going to hit me , Nontu, she was so angry. Her flames were snapping at the air like snakes. Usually, they fly out like a spear, but she had no one to aim at. But instead of hitting me Nontu, she knelt in front of me, in the mud, and promised me that it wouldn’t happen again._

_We didn’t swim today Nontu, but she promised that we will tomorrow. I’m sitting in the healers tent right now, and she is pacing outside now, because the healer, Nyko said that if she didn’t stop walking up and down his tent, he’d tell everyone what happened at the summer feast four summers ago. She glared at him, but left. I can hear her walk outside, her boots thumping softly on the ground._

_Nontu, the healer has a Sekon. She’s older than me, but Nontu, she’s so pretty. Her skin is the colour of cinnamon, and her eyes dance in the light. Her hair so curly that is like a cloud around her head. She told me that I was brave. It felt like I was flying, my whole body was humming. Her hands were soft as she bandaged my ribs, so soft, and slightly cold. She smiled at me, and just before I left, she kissed my cheek._

_Anya’s laughing at me. She says I have heart eyes. I don’t have heart eyes Nontu, my eyes are green!_

Lexa chuckled at the indignant statement, imagining a small girl with green eyes yelling at an older girl. Anya always used to say that Lexa had heart eyes. Maybe it was an Anya trait. Lexa could almost imagine God creating Anyas, writing in the notes section of the human machine that all human’s named Anya will say that people have heart eyes. The page made a crackling sound as she turned it. It sounded like logs on a fire. A fire that touched the whole world, but didn't burn anything.

_Nontu, we went swimming today. Well, Anya went swimming. I went to go and sit in the shallow parts. She said I was too scared of the water to go any deeper, and at irst I was annoyed, but now I understand. In the middle of the lake, it is very deep, and there is a strong current, but where Anya made me stay, I can see the bottom, and it’s not very deep at all. I think I’m going to like swimming Nontu. The fishes came and nibbled my feet, and it was ticklish, so I fell over, and Anya laughed at me, but I think it was nice laughter._

_I’m scared to tell her that it’s the Fleimkepa’s fault that I have three crack ribs. What if he hurts her? What if he hurts me? I don’t want him to hurt her for protecting me. I’m not going to tell her Nontu, I will be strong. I will be as brave as the healer’s Sekon thinks I am._

_Anya says tomorrow we will go swimming again, and that she wants me to be able to swim to the middle of the lake and back by the end of the month. Nontu, when they called her River Girl, I thought it was funny. Now, it’s just another reason why she’s insane. It’s **cold** Nontu. Why should I swim all day for a month? I’ll get sick! And then I won’t be able to train properly, and the Fleimkepa will get angry with me._

_I really want to swim Nontu, but I’m also so, so scared of the Fleimkepa. If only I wasn’t so small. I’d beat the other Natblidas, and then the Fleimkepa wouldn’t be angry with me. That’s what I’m going to do._

_I’m going to train extra hard, and tomorrow, tomorrow I’m going to beat the other Natblidas, and then the Fleimkepa will see that I am not weak, and after I do that, I’m going to swim with Anya, and I’m going to swim to the middle of the lake **before** the end of the month._

_When I am older, I will be Heda, and I will eliminate the Azgeda, and kill the Azplana for hurting Anya. I will be the best Heda there ever was, so greatm, that when I die, the Spirit will put me in the sky as stars, just like she did with Pramheda, Heda kom Jova, and Artemis, the huntress._

_I will be Heda._

_I am not weak._

 

Lexa didn’t hear the footsteps creeping up the library stairs. She didn’t hear the door slowly swing open. She didn’t see the person slip into the room with her, a hood drawn up to cover their face. No, Lexa didn’t see or hear anything, because Lexa was fast asleep, her glasses lying on the floor next to her bean bag, her book resting precariously on her shoulder.

She didn’t see the intruder close the door quietly behind them, or hear them slide over the floor to close the window. She didn’t feel gentle hands pull the blankets up to her chin, or hear her precious book being placed next to her glasses.

Lexa didn’t see Clarke Griffin arrive, and she certainly didn’t hear her leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short but it's here! (sort of) *jazz hands*


End file.
